With all her fear of him, the exasperating influence of his tone and his look was more than Stella could endure. Before she could restrain them, the rash words flew out of her lips.
“I am not sufficiently well acquainted with you, Father Benwell, to express an opinion.”
With that answer, she took her mother’s arm and left the room.
The moment they were alone, Romayne turned to the priest, trembling with anger. Father Benwell, smiling indulgently at the lady’s little outbreak, took him by the hand, with peace-making intentions, “Now don’t—pray don’t excite yourself!”
Romayne was not to be pacified in that way. His anger was trebly intensified by the long-continued strain on his nerves of the effort to control himself.
“I must, and will, speak out at last!” he said. “Father Benwell, the ladies of my household have inexcusably presumed on the consideration which is due to women. No words can say how ashamed I am of what has happened. I can only appeal to your admirable moderation and patience to accept my apologies, and the most sincere expression of my regret.”
“No more, Mr. Romayne! As a favor to Me, I beg and entreat you will say no more. Sit down and compose yourself.”
But Romayne was impenetrable to the influence of friendly and forgiving demonstrations. “I can never expect you to enter my house again!” he exclaimed.
“My dear sir, I will come and see you again, with the greatest pleasure, on any day that you may appoint—the earlier day the better. Come! come! let us laugh. I don’t say it disrespectfully, but poor dear Mrs. Eyrecourt has been more amusing than ever. I expect to see our excellent Archbishop to-morrow, and I must really tell him how the good lady felt insulted when her Catholic daughter offered to pray for her. There is hardly anything more humorous, even in Moliere. And the double chin, and the red nose—all the fault of those dreadful Papists. Oh, dear me, you still take it seriously. How I wish you had my sense of humor! When shall I come again, and tell you how the Archbishop likes the story of the nun’s mother?”
He held out his hand with irresistible cordiality. Romayne took it gratefully—still bent, however, on making atonement.